[Chorus: x2]And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caughtAnd we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we boughtAnd we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags'Cause we poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags!

We arose, let's goSo fresh so clean" like 'KastJay-Z be poppin' tagsLeavin' the mall with heavy bagsYou know the boy got a love for the cashAw fuck, there he go againTalkin' bout hoes and dough againYup! Can't hold it inI'm surprised I got so much dough to spendBut, back when I was poorer thenYou wasn't focusin', about the dough I spendBut I was holdin in, I was a roller thenI was a baller back then, all of that manFall back, I fought thatWhat would you do if you was in my shoes?Leave dudes in the rearviewV-12 engine, corners spinnin'Twinkies shinin', pinky ringArmadale, nigga stinky stinkTop, down, my cash is upGold chain, I don't give a fuckGold brain'll get you in the truck maThat's right, you in luck maYou see me cruisin' down, better step insideAin't enough room to fit you all in the rideFirst come, first served basisYou know Hov' be goin' to nice placesThat's right, and I'm droppin' cashLeave the mall with garbage bagsGucci this, Prada thatRoll witcha boy you'll be poppin' tags

[Chorus]

It's a party when I go up in the sto'Shoppin' while I'm zooted off the dro'Rollin like a nigga that just came up on a mill'And I got 'em sweepin' and pickin' up tags off the flo'Bag full of clothes I remember havin' rocks in the hallOnn the glimmer with the glock by the ballServin' up a jab and workin' security six to sixThen it's straight from the block to the mallNow what's on the wall? Go ahead and treat yo'selfWhen you come up on some cheddar better pop that tagLike when I dip off in the Prada then I go offto the lot lay the paper down and cop that JagI got a console full of ammunition and fundsMink Roc-a-Wear and some gunsPetty in a fresh pair of jumps, blo-packs and Bo Jaxand Air Maxes, throw back some ones, no max for none(When I go up in the sto' a nigga never get enough)I'm a baller and if you want it come and get it now(Nigga come to a race with a car you won't catch up)And the Twista kinda wicked when I spit it nowI be choppin up cheddar with KanyeChop a little cheddar up with JayChop it up with the O-to-the-KizayPoppin big tags with the flow and the dough, we get bi-zay!

[Chorus]

Uh-huh, whattup? Tell you somethin' 'bout me...My throwback game is whiffle wickedSaint Patties day, green pinstripe, number twenty Mark Spitz'nJersey ooh-wee with the matchin Nu*Wear fittedWhite boys say my style is bitchin'Keepin' coke in the kitchenKeep a glock that will shock and bring the resttucked underneath my Michelin SI, travellin', handlin' with a forty-five cannonIt's tucked in my Marc BuchananExtra clips and shells in the lambskinTwo deep by Pelle PelleWestside how they felly fellMore G's on me, than a late 80's Gucci leatherWorn by the great Rakim himselfStitch my Dapper Dan oh man with the gun in handI leave your blood squirtingNo offense, I'll put your face on the chest of a sweatshirt drawn by Shirt KingsI been fucking, a hustle, married to a racketSince the first Air Jordan's and Starter jacketsI slept with a package, under mattressI carry guns heavy speakeasy, slight with the fight wordsI'll put somethin' hot through your motherfuckin' icebergGot a project chica, named RicaShe keep a purse full of dro' reeferSmall, pinkies like thatTalk 'til the paper fatI rock somethin', roll chief Sacks like Daddy Fat!

[Chorus]

Pop tires in reverse, you'll be needin' a nurseLeave you layin on your back in a Cadillac hearseNow your momma in all black with a matchin' purseI know you want to blow up, but a funeral hurtsWhat's worse, you can hit the mall and ball 'til you fallHave to make a collect call, but your cell cut offTrot to the mailbox thinkin' a check but the mail's run shortNo more MD, DD, LDThat means movie date, dinner date, lunch date, help me please

My sheets is goneLong bread to the short bread, word is bondMeticulously pimpously serve the songAct a damn donkeyLike the pilgrims when they popped a tag on the Indians homeDrop top rag-o with the weed goneChillin', bags in the trunk full of FEO Schwartz for the chill'unsSpent a few shillingsSip a few chickens, lick a few kittens, just kiddin'A fresh bowl of milk is in the fridge andCan you pop the tags on the honeycombsOr are you actin' mad 'cause the money doneSlowed, down, just a little bitDipped, poked out, did some shull-bitActin' like a pitfall bull-pitDead game is the pul-pitLeave a motherpumper with his John Doe toe tag clippedImperial classic, a lyrical thrashin'A miracle happeninJay-Z, Killer Mike and Big Boi rappin' and rhymin' and smabbin'Pop that tag on some of this gameHolla-tic, swallow and keep the change